


Thunderstruck

by Agent Beyonce (LucysPromDress)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Demon Dean Winchester, Graphic Description, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Knight of Hell Dean Winchester, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Rape/Non-con Elements, Read at Your Own Risk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 22:30:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18787537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucysPromDress/pseuds/Agent%20Beyonce
Summary: Dean is a demon now and loving it; no rules, no regrets -- nothing to hold him back anymore. Newly-human Cas just wants to save his best friend and man he loves.NOT fluffy. Heed the warnings.Hot breath and soft lips pressed against the shell of Castiel’s ear as he was pulled flush against the hard body that grabbed him. “Wanna try that again, Angel?”





	Thunderstruck

This place was disgusting.

Rent by the hour rooms, prostitutes for every kink hanging around outside and in the halls asking the blue-eyed man in the trench coat if he was looking for a date in various, creative ways. Someone had even grabbed his crotch, surprising Cas, who was without his angelic powers but still strong enough to toss the man and his offending hand into a nearby wall.

Castiel had seen places like this before the first time he had been homeless, the rooms had been so cheap that they were highly sought after by anyone willing to sell themselves to make a buck or by junkies that needed a short-term private place to do their drugs. Sam and Dean had rented some pretty shoddy and questionable motel rooms at times, but the places they had stayed were the Plaza compared to this. Despite the cheapness and the declaration that a ‘bed was just a bed’, never in his wildest dreams had he ever thought that one day he would be roaming the halls of somewhere like this, looking for Dean.

There was no reason to pretend that this place was something other than what it was; a Den of Sin, a place that in his past Castiel would have loved to take apart brick by brick and smite whoever ran this place into the dust that they were barely worthy of.

Would that he could. If he weren’t _just_ a human.

But he was, and he had long ago accepted that. It didn’t make him useless, though. It had taken some getting used to — a lot of getting used to — but Sam had really been a big help, educating him in the ways that he could pass successfully for a human, an awkward one, and so patient with him, teaching him the ways of the hunter, the ways of a human man. Helping him when he needed it, not expecting extraordinary things from him. He had really underestimated Sam all these years.

Of course, he had known that he was strong and smart and brave, but he had never really appreciated the quiet strength that Sam was emotionally. Dean had always seemed stronger, shone brighter, but now it was clear that Sam was the sensible backbone and the strings that held things together while Dean was the heart and the soul that had always kept them pushing ahead, fighting another day.

Together they were perfect.

But they weren’t together now, and they hadn’t been for quite a while.

He had never imagined that Dean would let the Mark of Cain turn him into the black-eyed monster that everyone had failed to save either. Not Dean. He had always been so staunch and upright, but somewhere along the way Heaven’s righteous man’s morals and values had gotten skewed.

Castiel understood though, in the life, _their_ life, the most basic mode of survival was ‘kill or be killed’. Deals with demons and letting some monsters live to see another day was just an essential part of the game. Sometimes the hunter became the hunted, and that’s what Dean had become. Even Crowley couldn’t handle Dean anymore. Turns out Dean was just as legendary as a Knight of Hell as he was a hunter; everything supernatural that still had a brain in its head steered clear of Dean — funnily, he even had the king of hell himself hiding in the shadows when he heard that demon was in town.

Sam had tried and tried, moved and followed Dean, had been hurt and almost killed again and again by the demon in the Dean suit, but he kept at it, he never gave up on his brother. He never would. Until three days ago that is, and even then he hadn’t come simply because he was physically unable.

Truthfully, losing Dean the way they had was a huge failure and one he tried not to think about often, but he couldn’t help it. It was hard to convince Sam to let him take over his attempts to save Dean for a while, but Sam had relented and Cas was here. Dean had been playing a game with Sam for a long time, hurting him and picking up and leaving while he was unconscious, but he hadn’t killed him. Dean had leveled the threat on him many times but had yet to follow through with it. Maybe that was promising. Or maybe that was just a bored demon practicing.

The sound of AC/DC or some loud metal rock band was overpowering and vibrated his entire body along with the last three rooms of the hall, but he doubted anyone there would complain even if they didn’t mind drawing authorities attention, certainly they didn’t want to draw Dean’s. He had an unruly temper on a good day, as a demon Cas could just imagine how mean he was. He had almost killed Sam repeatedly, and he knew that Sam had meant the entire world to him. He was why Dean was still fighting to save the world.

Or had been fighting.

One of the doors was partially open, and that could only mean one thing; Dean knew he was coming. So much for surprising Dean and using a surprised demon to his advantage, but Cas pushed through the door anyway. He was here to try and help the hunter find himself again or to knock him out long enough to tie him to a chair and try to cure this. He was almost sure that this was a suicide mission, that Dean wouldn’t hesitate to hurt or to kill him, and without his abundance of grace, he was nothing special. Dean had once called him ‘a baby in a trench coat’ without his powers, but he had to do this anyway. This baby had to try.

The room was average looking; a queen-sized bed sat in its center, with plain plywood nightstands on either side of it. The worn-looking comforter on the bed had a few wrinkles in it to indicate that someone had at least sat there, but it definitely wasn’t slept in. There was also Dean’s duffel in the corner, unzipped with the legs of a pair of jeans dangling from it. His stuff was there, but Dean was nowhere in sight.

“Cas,” he almost jumped at the smooth voice that sounded behind him nearly simultaneous to the lowering volume of the music. He turned to find Dean standing behind him in the now-closed doorway. “I thought Sammy was coming back for another round, I wasn’t expecting you.”

Dean made a show of turning the bolt on the door, locking them in the small area. “In fact, I thought you were dead. I had it on good authority as I was about to die myself that you were being tortured to death.”

“Hello, Dean.” Cas returned, not fazed by the closed and locked door, at least visibly. It was disconcerting that he would lock them both in the room and not simply leave it open as it was. “Should I apologize for not being dead? I’m sure by now that you know most things don’t go as planned,” Cas paused and frowned at Dean, giving him a quick once over. “They didn’t where you were concerned, no matter how hard we tried to keep it from coming to this.”

Most people didn’t change very much physically when they were possessed, not unless the demon inside wanted to change their appearance or style, but Dean looked different. Subtly, and not in a bad way, just not really in a _Dean_ way. He was dressed differently, looked generally neat in appearance, not like he rushed to dress and wore what he could fight in. The way that the smile he wore didn’t quite reach his eyes and just looked malicious and calculated. From what Cas could tell he even talked slower, not hurried or rushed or tinted with anger; just slow and relaxed like he had not a care in the world.

Cas turned with Dean to follow him with his eyes as he moved, seemingly taking in every move that Dean made while he poured himself a glass of whiskey. Of course, he didn’t offer Cas any; this wasn’t some Godfather movie and Dean wasn’t the bad guy with the cat who was almost too polite. He was just _the bad guy_. Hopefully not for much longer.

“Very brave of you to show up here, little angel that could. Or maybe I should say… former angel?” As he passed Cas, Dean stopped and inhaled deeply, touching his nose to Cas’ hair and spoke slowly, grinning as Cas stiffened and blinked a few times at him. “Mm, you’re missing something vital, aren’t you?.”

Cas suspected that Dean knew he was without his angel mojo the second he stepped into the motel room, getting that close to him was just for effect and he could have kicked himself for giving Dean the one that he seemed to want. Sam would have never been touched that way, Dean wouldn’t have to get that close to his brother, he knew how to push his buttons in other ways. But this, with him? He could tell that Dean was just warming up.

“You boys are making this too easy on me. Send me a heavy hitter to give me a challenge, come together, something. I don’t understand how we ever got anything done when we hunted together; you’re both bad at it,” Dean gave a small chuckle as he lifted his glass to his lips, in no hurry it seemed to be rid of Cas just yet. “Guess we know where the real strength came from, don’t we?”

If Dean thought that particular taunt was one that would bother Cas, he was wrong. They had each been strong in their own ways, and Cas saw that now. It wasn’t just Dean that had always saved the day or Dean that was the strongest, smartest, most adept hunter of them. He was good, better than good, but the three of them together had been a team. Drawing from each other's strengths.

Cas kept the same near glare on his face that he had when he had first turned to see Dean, eyes narrowed and no other expression on his face. “Your brother is alive,” Cas said. “In case you were wondering. He sends his love.”

His love in the form of a few vials of his blood and enough drugs to hopefully knock Dean out long enough to get him tied down and in a Devil’s trap.

Sam was still in a hospital bed after his last encounter with Dean, and he was lucky he had been found and taken into surgery almost right away, but it still wasn’t enough. He was awake and talking, but bones needed to mend and gashes needed to heal.

Dean shrugged. “I figured since you weren’t riding my ass about killing him that he was still alive somewhere. I really don’t -”

Cas took the opportunity to lunge at Dean, needle poised and ready to go held tightly in his hand, but when he stabbed at Dean, he hit nothing but air - Dean was gone. No smoke or warning, just gone. Cas turned quickly backing toward a wall, his eyes darting around the room as he searched, but he wasn’t fast enough.

An arm snaked around his waist while the other caught the wrist of the hand that held the needle, squeezing until the tightening on the delicate bones was too much and Cas was forced to let go and listen to the needle clatter uselessly to the floor.

But it wasn’t over yet.

Cas pulled a normal blade from his coat and lunged back at Dean, who easily sidestepped him and shoved the angel into the wall. Dean was amused every time Castiel attacked him and grinned each time he shoved him off and threw him into one of the various pieces of furniture. Bleeding and weaponless Cas kept coming at him and kept getting tossed around like he was a rag doll.

When would they understand how powerful Dean was now?

Hot breath and soft lips pressed against the shell of Castiel’s ear as he was pulled flush against the hard body that grabbed him. “Wanna try that again, Angel?” As Castiel’s body shivered and he stilled himself for a moment, his pulse racing, breath kicking up a notch. He was defenseless, and he actually heard Dean smile behind him, like he had read his thoughts. Cas jerked away from him, trying to put distance between them, but when he turned around to face him, Dean was gone.

This fight was too much for him, Castiel was human and fairly new to the limits of this vessel without his grace inside, and yet here he was fighting this Demonic version of Dean and having his ass gift wrapped and given to him in the process. Sam was a human and extremely skilled and used to the pains of his body and knew how much he could take. Sam vs. Dean was akin to Dean shadowboxing just for practice; so what would happen to a fairly new to humanity Cas?

He had asked for this though, wanted to see Dean. After all, he’d had the element of surprise on his side; he was alive, a thing that the demon who was kicking his formerly celestial ass all over the room had taken a moment to get over. That moment was clearly gone now though.

Suddenly Dean was back behind him, holding tightly to an unmoving Cas. “Giving up too easily, Cas, I thought there was more fight in you than this. You’re disappointing. Where’s the angel who would take his anger out on my face and then heal my wounds in the same breath?”

The hand around Cas’ waist was sliding lower as Dean spoke, in response Cas jerked backward, causing Dean to lose his footing for a split second. Cas took advantage of the folly and with all his strength he jabbed backward with his elbow and came into contact with Dean’s ribs, causing Dean to stumble and let him go. It was valiant, a good try, but not enough.

Dean was back on him in a flash, holding Cas like he’d never left him except this time Cas couldn’t move. No matter how much he tried, no matter how much he tried to struggle, he was essentially paralyzed. Cas was strong, even without his powers, but he had to be able to move to fight and whatever Dean had done to him Cas could barely even move the muscles in his face. Barely.

“Let me go, Dean,” he gritted out. “I want to go. This isn’t - I don’t want to do this. I don’t want you to do this.”

“You were trying to kill me a second ago. Or cure me. Why would you try to get away from me, Cas?” Dean was working Cas’ tie loose and unbuttoning a few of his top buttons, all the while his other hand was sliding slowly down the front of his trousers to grip Cas’ dick through the material, squeezing him roughly.

“I knew about the little crush you had on me,” Dean squeezed again, harder, eliciting a shaky half groan of pain from Cas. “ _Have_ on me. But the old Dean didn’t want you. The parts you have were all wrong, all wrong for that deeply closeted, scared sack of human meat. But this Dean? The better, more open-minded, Dean who gives less fucks than he used to? This Dean understands that a warm, tight hole is just a thing to fuck. And I bet yours is tight and unused, isn’t it?”

With one hand he undid Cas’ belt and pants and let them fall down around his knees, his already stiff cock brushing Dean’s fingertips through the fold of his boxers. He chuckled. “Your lips might say you don’t want this Cas, but your body is telling me something different.”

Cas wanted to struggle against Dean, to move something, toss his head back and catch Dean in the face and escape before he did something he would regret later when he was better, but Cas was still unable to leave the grip that was holding him firmly in place. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. Dean was Cas’ friend, had always been Cas’ friend, and now this?

Dean didn’t bother to undress Cas anymore than he had, instead he just bunched the man's trench coat up around his shoulders and shoved him forward into a dresser, stopping to position his hands flat on the surface and bend him at the waist a little.

The new position and the lack of anything covering his bottom wasn’t lost on Cas, but his protests came out in a gasp as Dean spread his cheeks and something cold and slick was suddenly being massaged into his hole.

“Trust me, it’s not for _your_ pleasure.”

The invasion was foreign and burning, stretching and pushing, but the longer it went on the less it hurt, or the less he noticed that it hurt until another finger was added, this one with a jagged fingernail. Cas gave a small cry, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

Mentally he was preparing for another breach, one bigger, one longer, and one with less control than the fingers twisting in and out of him had. His muscles suddenly tightened around the fingers inside him, earning him a hard slap to the cheek of his ass and causing Cas to tighten further, enough that the fingers were almost pushed out.

His eyes slammed shut. “Dean. Please. Don’t.”

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

The response he got was the unbuckling of a belt behind him and then silence, he was wholly unprepared when the head of Dean’s cock pressed against him, seeking entrance, pressing into him until Cas swore he heard something pop.

Mercifully Dean moved slowly, little by little, inch by inch, ignoring Castiel’s cries and pleas, begging him to stop, until he was fully seated inside.

Cas’ body was heaving, dragging in harsh breaths, his wobbly legs being spread a bit more as Dean started to move. Drawing back and almost leaving Cas’ body before he shoved forcefully back in. Slowly at first, painfully slow, building up his momentum as he went. It seemed he was determined to revel in this or teach a lesson, or both.

Dean was thoroughly enjoying himself, that much was evident in the cacophony of groans and grunts he gave as he fucked into Cas’ body, eventually setting up a fast, hard, punishing pace. Fast and hard. Deep. His thighs slamming into Cas with the resounding sound of skin slapping skin with every single thrust.

He grabbed Cas’ hips, shoving him back against him, forcing him to fuck himself on Dean’s cock, the sounds of distress coming from the other ignored and mostly swallowed up by the thrumming of the music around them. Dean tried to go deeper, to spread him more, kicking at Castiel’s feet to spread him open more until he was stopped by the unmoving fabric of the pants around his ankles.

Cas kept his eyes closed, his sounds ranging between begging for him to stop and cries of pain, unable to move or protest in any other way. Finally, Dean laid his body over Cas, pressing their bodies together, back to chest, as his thrusting became short and deep, stuttered movements, getting as close to Cas as their bodies would allow. With a growl, Dean pushed into him one final time, body stilling as he came, hard and deep, in Cas.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean said after a minute, giving a few shallow thrusts to fuck his cum deeper into his body. “We should’ve done that a long time ago.”

Cas could say nothing. It was almost as though the finality of it, Dean’s release, had robbed him of his ability to speak and every ounce of fight and determination he had when he came here. His body was throbbing, his eyes were leaking and he was stuck against the wood while Dean used and abused him, took what he wanted and sounded very pleased with himself while he was doing it.

Breathlessly, Dean pulled out and sagged back on the mattress behind them, mopping the sweat from his brow and cleaning his himself with a towel beside him. He reached back for the bottle he’d left on the nightstand and took a swig straight from the bottle.

“You can move now.” Dean said to Cas, remaining seated on the edge of the bed while the once angel, red-faced and sweating or crying, turned, and winced as he bent down to pull his pants and underwear up, fastening them quietly while his eyes remained on Dean, who chuckled at Cas’ still hard dick being shoved into his pants.

“If you want to take care of that my dicks still out, or I can take my shirt off for your viewing pleasure. And we can cuddle after.”

The response Dean got was a hard glare as Cas turned and shuffled to the door. He was sure he wouldn’t make it there, that Dean would stop him, but he wasn’t going to stay there by choice. Nothing that had happened to him in the last hour had been his choice, and now he felt he should at least pretend to have a tiny amount of control back.

There was no Dean here to save. It had been too long, the demon had gotten too comfortable. If there were any part left of Dean, the Dean he knew, the Dean he loved, the hunter he had put back together piece by piece, he would have never done to him what he had just done.

“Uh uh, Cas,” Dean was up in a flash and in front of him, blocking him from leaving the room. “Do you think I want this every time I turn around? You or Sam, finding me, interrupting my life, trying to save me? I don’t want to be saved. Why don’t you understand that?”

His arms wrapped around Cas as Dean placed a small, soft kiss to his lips and met Cas’ blue eyes with his green, just before Dean blinked and his eyes went black. Cas’ mouth formed a small ‘o’ as he looked down in pain and saw the first blade jutting out of his chest. He had no thoughts, not real ones anyway, but knew that the last thing he wanted to see before he died wasn’t those black eyes gazing down at him. His hand reached up to cover them as he focused on Dean’s face, his soft lips, the chin, the freckles, the parts of the hunter he had loved as the last remnants of life left his body.

Dean watched the light fade and felt the body go slack before he released him, already picking up his bag as Cas’ body settled onto the floor. No regret or remorse. It was simply something he had to do now because all he wanted from any of them was just to be left alone. It wasn’t a game anymore, it wasn’t just a way to pass the time. He had told his brother time and again that he couldn’t be saved, that he liked the new life he was leading, but Sam still wouldn’t go away. He wasn’t going to allow Cas to pick up where Sam had left off. Dean had no choice but to end this.

Maybe in another life he had loved Cas, _really_ loved Cas, had dreamed of one day adding another rocking chair to the porch of the retired life that he and Sam had dreamed of. But from the second that Dean had taken that mark, that life had become a pipe dream. That Dean had died at Metatron’s hands, and the one that came back was barely a Dean at all. Yeah, he had all the same thoughts and memories, but the Dean that had felt and loved and sacrificed everything he had willingly, he was gone. Never coming back. And no one seemed to understand that.

After he gathered a few of his personal items, clothes and shaving kit, Dean only paused long enough to retrieve his blade from the Castiel’s still chest before he stepped over the body and left the room, going now to see Sam.


End file.
